


kingdom come

by wan (kuro49)



Series: thirty days of writing '18 [25]
Category: HiGH&LOW (Movies), HiGH&LOW: the Story of S.W.O.R.D. (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 16:31:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16768795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/wan
Summary: In one way or another, and now this one too, he finds that he has loved him all his life.





	kingdom come

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: The home we buried.

The inside of his mouth is cold, is sweet.

With his tongue tinged blue and tasting of soda, it feels just a little bit freeing when he presses his mouth over his.

Masaki isn’t soft on him, he digs his fingers into his hip. Vice grip, blunt edged nails biting into the fabric of his worn t-shirt into skin into flesh to take hold of what might just be his soul. Beneath the heat of the sun, Hiroto feels like it is always bound to end this way.

The Amamiya brothers weren’t always looking to make such a name for themselves but the years spent doing what they do build quite the reputation, create quite the name, and odd courier jobs add up when their benefactors are people who have every intention to keep both their names and their faces out of the picture. In time, even Mugen disbands.

They may not have territory to call their own but their name carries the same weight as S.W.O.R.D. around these streets.

There is just one thing missing. And it goes by _aniki_.

Two steps forward, five steps back.

Masaki thinks he could figure out Takeru if he just thinks long and hard enough.

They are crashed out in a tiny hotel room with two single beds far too narrow to be comfortable but they are just exhausted enough to not quite care.

The two of them have been chasing after an older brother, feeling like they are reaching out to grasp at smoke each time Masaki thinks they are getting close enough to touch.

“Do you think Takeru just doesn’t want to be found?” Masaki asks Hiroto, and it feels like morbid curiosity at best when he is digging right where it hurts them both. His legs are hanging off of the edge of the bed, and he has no inclination to kick off his boots just yet.

“Does it matter what Takeru thinks?”

Masaki laughs at that, shoulders shaking, tasting something bitter in the way the laughter comes out sharp and fucking _done_ with enough of this to admit that, yeah, “probably not.”

Hiroto lets out a soft snort. “That’s what I thought.”

They lay there in silence, Masaki with his legs over the edge, kicking just barely. Hiroto on top of the covers, leather jacket still on and pulling tight across his shoulders whenever he tries to shift to a position that is just a little bit more comfortable. But it never really is.

“I want to go home.”

Hiroto admits in the stillness of the room when even the air conditioning seems to have stuttered to a complete stop.

“We’re almost there.” Masaki says, thinking that some things are better off burnt to the ground.

Nothing good ever happens when it rains.

Masaki finds with experience, not quite trying to forget but trying frantically not to remember. He is not an old man and he is not wistful but on days where the tires of their ride spin out far too easily atop the wet asphalt, he aches at those places where he has broken bone and it feels not quite right when he doesn't go and reminisces on all the bad things just a little harder than he’d allow himself on a sunnier day.

Self-pity is a terrible thing. Masaki figures he is not one for it.

The two of them have always had an aim, a purpose behind each fight they pick because they could have easily walked away from every single one. There is just as much power in being able to walk away at all.

But this here, they cannot.

Hiroto has his brother’s blood on his hands, his well wishes to keep on living even when Takeru was their sole purpose for just as long. The last time they see Takeru, he rides off just one step ahead of them. Their eyes follow him, tracking.

 _Blink_ , and he is gone.

Leather does not soak up blood or rain.

In time, even the last trace of Amamiya Takeru will be washed away.

“Sleep with me.” Masaki says, and they both know it isn’t exactly a joke. Not in the way it should be.

“We aren’t kids anymore, we don’t fit.” Hiroto answers, like that is the problem here. They are brothers in every sense of the word except for blood. They are family in every way that counts.

“I can move over,” Masaki shifts, kicks his boots off and moves so there is just enough room, even if barely. He repeats himself and there is no shame to how it comes out as a plead. “Sleep with me, Hiroto.”

The single bed makes sure there is no space left between them when Hiroto finally climbs in.

“Move your arms.” Masaki murmurs as he tries to get Hiroto to turn to him. Unwilling is not quite the word Masaki would use here, so he settles for resistance. “Come _on_ , this way.”

“I like this side.” Hiroto mutters, petulant, refusing to give in to Masaki even when he's giving up enough.

“I want to see your face.”

“I don’t want to see yours. Go to _bed_.”

Masaki retaliates by snaking his arms around Hiroto and pulling him tight against his chest. They both know neither one of them are sleeping tonight.

It comes in the dark, his voice barely audible, like he is admitting to a secret.

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

It takes a long time but Hiroto twists in Masaki’s arms. They can barely make out each other in the dark but he can feel his exhale, the expansion of his rib cage with each inhale. It is a ridiculous request to make. “Don’t die, Masaki.”

Maybe they are still children, and maybe it doesn’t matter whether he keeps this promise or not. In one way or another, and now this one too, he finds that he has loved him all his life. Some fights you do not win. And there are fights where you wish you didn’t. Hiroto has no idea which one this is. Masaki thinks he can convince his little brother that, maybe, for once, it doesn’t have to matter.

“I won’t, _ever_.”

Promises made are not promises kept, but he makes this one all the same.

Tight becomes tighter within the encircle of Masaki's arms, Hiroto doesn’t mind.


End file.
